


Paradise Lost

by xLonelyDreamerx



Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Apocalypse, American Horror Story: Murder House
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Backstory, Bad Parenting, Biblical References, Constance doesn't commit suicide, F/F, F/M, I screw up with Michael’s age, Mallory is an atheist, Mallory is not a witch, Mallory’s last name is Bennett, Michael is the Antichrist and this should be a warning, Prophetic Dreams, Slow Burn, The Greys are people too, because she's CONSTANCE FUCKING LANGDON
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-25
Updated: 2018-12-01
Packaged: 2019-08-07 04:56:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16401725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xLonelyDreamerx/pseuds/xLonelyDreamerx
Summary: Then the Lord God said to the woman, “What is this that you have done?”The woman said, “The serpent deceived me, and I ate.”- Genesis 3:13[A backstory about the lives of Michael & Mallory and how meeting one another ends up changing their destinies]





	1. Mallory I

**Author's Note:**

> I struggled this for over three weeks but I finally got it!
> 
> The last piece is called 'The Woman and the Dragon' and is from Revelation 12
> 
> Please read the tags

**_"You will be hearing of wars and rumours of wars. See that you are not frightened, for those things must take place, but that is not yet the end."_ **

**_–  Matthew 24:6_ **

* * *

 

 

Mallory’s first memory had been the smell of grass and trees

“That’s impossible,” Her mother tells her with a laugh. She had only been four years old when they moved from Georgia to the sunny city of L.A to be closer with her sick grandmother.

But Mallory swears. “It’s true” She can remember their little lake house, with the trees and the grass and the scent of fresh air, the lemon tree outside her window and the singing of birds every morning.

Her voice is deaf to her mother’s ears and Mallory stops trying

It’s pointless

**~**

Throughout the years, Mallory’s life has been painfully dramatic; sometimes she can’t help but wonder whether she has her own “Truman Show”

Her mother and grandmother are a dynamic duo whose forces she can’t go against. Her mother, Beatrice is angry for letting her grandmother talk to her into teaching her palm reading, while her grandmother, Abby is furious with her mother for bringing home another man.

_“I told you not to tell her about this nonsense!”_

_“Our ancestors are something you should be proud of! What you should be ashamed of was bringing that monkey man inside our home!”_

_“I’m young! I can see whomever I wanna see! And you two wouldn’t be awake to see us if you weren’t trying to brainwash my six year old daughter with the same bullshit that killed my sister!”_

For a few seconds there’s a stunned silence and Mallory comes forward with tears in her eyes.

“Momma, I don’t want you and Granny fighting.”

Beatrice’s face softens as she takes her little girl into her arms. “We’re not fighting, baby, we’re just … arguing. Adults do that!”

“Your mother is just as stubborn as a goat, sweetling. No need for tears.” Abby pats her back and shoots a warning glare at her daughter who avoids looking at her.

All of them go to bed and the next morning they all pretend as if nothing happened.

Mallory can’t say she was surprised

**~**

In 2nd grade, Mallory has already fallen into category; she’s one of the ‘weird’ kids.

It’s not something she does, it’s how she _acts_.

She is polite and nice to people like her momma taught her but she gets bored of their silly games easily.

She likes staring at the sky and finding shapes within the clouds, she likes helping the school with the plants and she is always up for volunteering.

Sometimes she’s drawing during class but she hides her sketches because of past incidents with her teachers.

Apparently, her imagination is a bit disturbing

She would never forget the day her teacher pulled her mother to the side and gave her the picture she had drawn. Her teacher had been so concerned she almost called the police and social services and refused to let her leave.

It took almost an hour to convince that it was her gram’s tales influencing her imagination

Her mother had been so upset that she refused to look at her during the whole car ride. Mallory promises not to draw anything else in class.

For what is worth, Mallory keeps her word and her drawings for herself.

~

Abby Bennet is known as the kooky lady around the neighbourhood, but to Mallory, she is more than a grandmother with crazy stories; she’s a listener, a guidance, and at the end, a friend.

 _“It was pathetic”_ She will lie to others when she is older because what preteen had her grandmother for a best friend?

Aside her freakish stories about witches, ghosts, and all the nonsense – her grandmother keeps going despite her mother’s disapproval – Mallory loves spending time together.

The weekends belong to them; studying, painting, cooking together, taking care of their garden…

Her grams disapproves her mother’s busy lifestyle; working all day at the hospital, trying to keep in touch with her friends while having failed attempts with dating men.

_“It’s so boring to be alone”_

Her grams believes her mother should be focused solemnly on her. Mallory will never dare to say it aloud to her mother but she is glad. They don’t really have anything in common and their quality time always ends up being awkward.

At some point, her mother gives up, much to grams’ frustration, and Mallory can happily enjoy her free time either alone or with Grams

**~**

Today, it’s Sunday.

It’s sunny. Late afternoon with a typical L.A weather.

They are planting new bushes.

“Why roses?”

“A woman in the flower shop recommended it” Her grandmother starts. “…she showed me a picture of her own garden, full of rose bushes. A beautiful sight.”

Mallory nods and encourages her to keep going. Grams has been acting oddly for the past few days and Mallory couldn’t help but think of the worst. _Has her health worsened under her nose?_

Abby mixes compost with oil till she has formed a mound, losing herself in her thoughts

Mallory copies her movements, placing the bare root rose on the soil mound. Her hands hurts but she does not complain.

“Mom told me you went to the doctor last week,” Mallory tells her quietly. “How did it go?”

Grams gives her a warm smile as she fills the hole with water. “Don’t concern yourself with silly things, Mally”

“Your health is not silly” She protests with a frown, offended that her grandmother doesn’t think of her health as a serious issue.

“It’s the same thing, sweetling: take the pills, eat healthy, rest, etc, etc.” She assures her with a dismissive tone, waving her dirty hand in the air.

Mallory pouts as she stares at her grams’ hands making a soil mound over the plant; feeling suddenly guilty for not offering to do the whole thing herself.

She should be lying on bed, watching her favourite telenovela

“Perhaps you should go to bed then”

Her laugh startles her so much she almost drops the bottle of water. It’s not one of her grandmother’s usual laugh – warm, loud, and full of life – it’s dry, almost bitter. “Nothing can make me sleep these days”

“Is it mom?” Mallory finally asks. Because who knows how many sleepless nights she has spend, listening these two arguing about every small detail.

At first, there’s no response, other than rough movements, which make Mallory pity the poor flowers.

“I saw your drawings as I was cleaning your bedroom this morning.”

Mallory closes her eyes, mentally cursing herself for being so thoughtless as to not hide her drawings somewhere as usual.

 “A bleeding sky with dark crows, a woman with a crown of twelve stars and a red dragon with seven heads… How long?” She inquires, in a voice trembling with emotion.

Mallory stares at her in disbelief, unable to understand how she could get so worked up for this

 “Grams, it was for a school project,” She says slowly, as if explaining to a child. “My teacher read us ‘The Woman and the Dragon from the bible and told us to recreate an artwork in order to see what we understood.”

“No” replied she, with vehemence. “You know, deep down you-“

Mallory places her hand on her grams’ back, rubbing her fragile body careful and gently

“I love your stories, Grams” Mallory tells her cautiously, knowing she had to tread carefully, “and I’m proud of where we’re coming from but it’s all… you know… _stories_.”

“None of you understand!” Grams shakes her head furiously, yanking herself away from her. “I have seen it Mally! A huge pale snake taking you, and transforming into a monster with claws” Her voice continues to tremble, as if she is ready to cry. “He’ll take you and I-I-“

“Grandma?” Mallory looks at her wide eyed as she tries to gasp for air. “Wait here, I’ll bring you your pills!”

Mallory runs inside ignoring her gram’ protests, feeling like the biggest idiot for causing this. She opens a drawer in the kitchen where she knows Grams keeps her medicine.

“What’s wrong, sweetie?” Her mother asks from behind her, unaware.

“Something’s wrong with Grams. We were in the garden and-“ she struggles to find the right words but her mother seems to understand for she rushes out of the house before she can even complete her sentence.

Mallory follows her. Gram had already become pale and had fallen on the ground. She notes however, that she no longer cries anymore, she was only staring at the mud with a blank expression on her face that sent her chills on her spine.

Her mother approaches and sooths her enough to take her upstairs. Mallory offers her the medicine but her mother only shake her head, “She just needs rest”

Mallory sits in front of the kitchen table, feeling like the biggest asshole in the planet. _What was I thinking?_ Just because Grams acts all tough, it doesn’t erase reality; she is old and her mentality is more fragile than ever.

_There’s a special place in hell for idiot like you_

“How’s Grams?” she asks as soon as her mother comes in.

“She’s fine” She replies with an easygoing tone as she pours two cups of chocolate for them. “Mal, you need to understand that Grandma is old, she’s not always going to be here.”

Despite knowing that, Mallory still doesn’t want to think about it. In every dream she has, Grams is always _there_ , in her fantasies.

“I don’t even know what happened,” she replies instead. “She freaked out over a school project”

Her mother raises an eyebrow and guessed before taking a sip of her cocoa. “The one with the dragon?

At her nod, mother pokes her cheek, giving her a little smile. “For what is worth, it _is_ a good drawing.”

Mallory gasps, unused to being praised by her mother

“Don’t look at me like that! I can appreciate a talent” A hand creeps up, and Mallory stares at her mother stroking her palm as if it was something alien. Her mother has never been the affectionate type.

“Will thinks so as well”

_Oh_

That explains it

Will Drake was her mother’s new love interest

A fashion designer who moved in Los Angeles mainly because he was looking for inspiration, if Mallory had heard correctly

Sometimes it’s hard to eavesdrop from upstairs

“I showed him those cute clothes you designed and he was impressed!” Her mother claps her hands in excitement in the same way she did when Mallory admitted to like Cheyenne, the guy her mother was seeing a month ago.

“You stole my sketches?” She feels a flash of irritation and something cracks from behind them but neither of them bothers to look.

“ _Stole_!” She repeats the word with a scoff. “You always exaggerate, sweetie. I just bragged about my little girl” She pouts, crossing her arms

Sometimes Mallory wonders which of them is the adult and which the child.

“Perhaps you could go to an art school” Her mother keeps going, unaware of her patience slipping away.

She doesn’t know whether to blame it on her hard day or her mother’s bullshit but Mallory’s fury springs to life. “You don’t even like my drawings! You find them stupid and creepy!”

Her mother doesn’t move an inch. She rolls her eyes and simply brushes few strands of hair away from her face. “Well, it would be a nice change to draw something other than silly figures. Clothes is a good start.” She adds with an approving nod.

Her fists clenches and Mallory inhales a deep breath as she answers tightly. “They’re shadows, not figures. And it’s called having a goddamn fantasy!”

Her mother sits up straight, throwing her a glare. “Watch over your language, young lady”

Oh now she wants to play the mother

“You know what? This is pointless.” She exclaims. “We’re discussing my artistic skills when Grams had a breakdown and it’s my fault!” Her shoulders drop and her mother lets out a long sigh as she gets up and come from behind her, her arms swallowing her into a hug.

“Don’t mind your head about it” She tells her with a tone that leaves no room for arguments. “ In the future, this will be a funny memory, you’ll see. We’ll all tell, «Remember that time grandma lost it over a school project during 6th grade?» and we’ll all laugh”

That doesn’t sound plausible but Mallory nods hopping to end this.

She want to go to her room and pretend the world doesn’t exist

Satisfied, her mother leaves her and goes back to making crepes.

Mallory goes to her room, her footsteps feeling heavy as she passes from her grams’ bedroom – she peaked inside only to find her asleep. She closed the door, not knowing whether she should feel relieved or disappointed.

Inside her room, Mallory feels like she can finally breathe but her eyes burn with tears.

She feels so exhausted she wants to cry; she’s tired and angry, and a 13 year old cliché

Next thing she knows she’ll think the world is against her.

Lips pressed into a hard line, Mallory grabs her notes from class and seat comfortable on her bed. She doesn’t know what she’s doing; she’s not a believer: people are born, they grow old, and then they die.

Yet here she is, on her bed reading the mess that is the bible, trying to understand, trying to _connect_.

 

_A great sign appeared in heaven: a woman clothed with the sun, with the moon under her feet and a crown of twelve stars on her head. She was pregnant and cried out in pain as she was about to give birth. Then another sign appeared in heaven: an enormous red dragon with seven heads and ten horns and seven crowns on its heads. Its tail swept a third of the stars out of the sky and flung them to the earth._

_The dragon stood in front of the woman who was about to give birth, so that it might devour her child the moment he was born. She gave birth to a son, a male child, who “will rule all the nations with an iron sceptre.” And her child was snatched up to God and to his throne. The woman fled into the wilderness to a place prepared for her by God, where she might be taken care of for 1,260 days. Then war broke out in heaven. Michael and his angels fought against the dragon, and the dragon and his angels fought back.  But he was not strong enough, and they lost their place in heaven._

_The great dragon was hurled down—that ancient serpent called the devil, or Satan, who leads the whole world astray. He was hurled to the earth, and his angels with him. Then I heard a loud voice in heaven say: “Now have come the salvation and the power and the kingdom of our God, and the authority of his Messiah. For the accuser of our brothers and sisters, who accuses them before our God day and night, has been hurled down._

_They triumphed over him by the blood of the Lamb and by the word of their testimony; they did not love their lives so much as to shrink from death. Therefore rejoice, you heavens and you who dwell in them! But woe to the earth and the sea, because the devil has gone down to you! He is filled with fury, because he knows that his time is short.”_

_When the dragon saw that he had been hurled to the earth, he pursued the woman who had given birth to the male child. The woman was given the two wings of a great eagle, so that she might fly to the place prepared for her in the wilderness, where she would be taken care of for a time, times and half a time, out of the serpent’s reach. Then from his mouth the serpent spewed water like a river, to overtake the woman and sweep her away with the torrent. But the earth helped the woman by opening its mouth and swallowing the river that the dragon had spewed out of his mouth. Then the dragon was enraged at the woman and went off to wage war against the rest of her offspring—those who keep God’s commands and hold fast their testimony about Jesus-_

“This is ridiculous” Mallory scoffs at herself for wasting time. She throws the papers carelessly on the floor, unbothered that her mother will probably scold her tomorrow.

She lies down and turns on her TV, watching absentmindedly a show about four sorority girls being threatened by a red mascot as she tries to come up with a new way to make up to Grams.

She figures that after school, she’ll ask her to show her again how to sew and knit; she hates it but Grams loves these things.

Relieved to finally have an idea for the next day; Mallory falls asleep just before Nick Jonas’s character dies.

That night, she dreams of a rotten field with dry air, and a boy surrounding by snakes under the bleeding sky.


	2. Michael I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Expectations are dangerous when they are both too high and unformed.”  
> ― Lionel Shriver

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The age thing probably confused you in this chapter, it sure as hell confused me! Basically Michael skipped 3rd and 5th grade.  
> You have no idea how many times I wrote this chapter because there were so many directions I wanted to go.  
> At some point, I wrote Constance getting Michael a bird and he did some gruesome things on the poor thing, so I deleted it because I didn’t know how you guys feel about Michael being a creepy kid.

_"Now, what am I gonna do with you?"_

It is not the first time Michael Langdon hears these words

He smiles at his grandma who places her bags at the kitchen table.

She comes forward kneeling in front of him. Her palm strokes his cheek, her skin is rough and a bit cold but Michael does not mind. He forgives her

“What’s this? Hm”

He giggles as her eye points to the dead animal.

“She didn’t catch any mice. She was useless.”

His grandma hums and looks at the bleeding cat with a thoughtful look. She goes to examine it and Michael goes for the bags, looking for his favourite biscuits.

He grabs the food excitedly. Ever since the playtime with nanny Flora, his grandma had chosen to lock him at his bedroom every time she left without allowing him to get out at all until she returns. He hates it but at least she always brings him whatever he asks to make up for it.

“I knew I should have gotten a bird.”

Michael ignores her murmurings; he is too busy enjoying the chocolate cream in his mouth.

He seats on a chair as grandma starts cleaning his mess with a sigh.

_“Tate always liked birds”_

**~**

As his body grows abnormally fast so does his mind.

Squeezing and slicing cats becomes too easy. Michael no longer cares about the blood – it’s messy and grandma doesn’t even appreciate the hard work - he longs for the chase because he’s bored.

It’s something that even his teachers agree with. “His mind work so much faster. I believe it is a waste to have him with the other children”

His grandma smiles a real, shiny smile – the kind that Michael _breathes_ for – and nods with approval; this is the kind of difference she wants, the only difference she’ll allow.

For what it’s worth, they live peacefully and happily together. Michael brings praise, and outstanding compliments, their neighbours congratulate his grandmother for raising such an unusual _perfect_ child and his grandmother – proud and happy – pats his hair as if their words mean nothing. “He has always been such a remarkable boy”

And when her dogs go missing one evening, she doesn’t ask about it.

~

At eight, Michael has jumped a grade and has started attending 4th grade; to congratulate him his grandma no longer locks the door; it’s odd to walk around the house without his grandma watching his every move but he is relishing his new found freedom.

It doesn’t last long

The problem with Michael is… he gets bored easily

And when he’s bored he has to entertain himself

Grandma wants him to have friends, she wants him to talk about football with boys of his age, and be disgusted with girls and complain about school and homework. That’s  a favour he can’t do, because he doesn’t care about football, school is the same routine every day, homework is easy and _of course_ he can’t hate girls – grandma is one of them!

Today is Sunday. Grandma is a at a friend’s house (the medium that hates him. Michael saw her once when he was five and she almost left running. She never returned ) to gossip about their neighbours

Michael never meets them, they always leave soon afterwards within a day or two

Grandma laughs when it happens “You should be happy Michael, this is our house”

He likes how she uses the word “our”, she includes him, it means it’s another one of their secrets. But he can’t understand her obsession about the house. He, too, feels drawn to it – like there’s something calling him, trying to pull him close but he resists. It’s the first time it happens.

Last year, during one of his school trips, they passed a hotel, which one of his classmates claimed to be haunted and he had gotten the same feeling, the same pull. “My dad was going to stay there with a few friends during high school but he bailed on them the last moment. Next day, they were all dead”  

He doesn’t really care about religion but he certainly doesn’t refuse the existence of spirits.

His musings are cut off by a scream.

He runs towards the window, the one that faces the _Murder House_ and he can see a woman with a nightgown, wearing only one slipper running outside. A man follows her with a cat in his arms – it was white and Michael can’t help but think the beautiful contrast the blood would make on her snow white fur.

He shakes his head, he’s not a careless little kid anymore but he does miss his mischievous days from time to time.

He watches in pure amusement as a man follows her (her husband perhaps) wearing only SpongeBob underwear. He laughs as he closes the curtains.

Grandma was right

They were able to last for full three days

**~**

Growing up means changing

Michael hates changes.

He knows adaption, but he doesn’t particularly _like_ it

By the end of the following year, he skips a grade – again

His grandma, of course, come up with the right excuses, a wrong paper, a wrong number and people eat up her lies easily. They’re both very good liars.

Michael doesn’t like growing up; the world around changes and so does everything he knows.

He’s tired of watching the neighbours from their old house come and go, over the years

He hates how lonely he becomes, how his grandmother is not _enough_ anymore

He hates that he has to keep his gifts (His powers. He can’t say magic, the word seems ridiculous) in secret because it angers his grandma every time he uses them (even accidentally) to the point of giving him the silent treatment.

But most of all he hates the ghosts she sees every time she’s looks at him.

“Such a sweet boy, Adelaide would have loved you” Every time he brings her food upstairs, when he knows she had a bad day

“You would have loved playing with Beau, he would have kept you a good company”

“Of course you like _this_ type of music, just like Tate”

 He

Can’t

Breath

Which is how he started running from time to time in the early mornings (grandma already talks about him joining the track team next year - he’s going to burst her bubble eventually). He knows things he should not but that’s only because of people. They talk. He always caught a pair of eyes watching him wearily, a teacher, the janitor, the librarian… Sometimes they murmur too and he pretends not to hear them. They watch him like a hawk, a tickling bob that is going to explode any moment.

Michael will prove them wrong.

Therefore, he adapts. He makes _acquaintances_ and becomes social. He volunteers with grandma and he joins drama class (“My Hollywood star!” she coos) and he is _good_. Grandma is not unfair, she rewards him; she doesn’t complain about the music, she stops bringing up her dead children (“they don’t matter they’re dead!” He screams one morning), she spends once more time with him – they’re either cleaning the house or gardening and none of this is fun but at least she’s _here_.

It’s a routine, _their_ routine

And once again, they’re happy and peaceful

Michael has just turned twelve – there’s still a piece of his birthday cake left in the fridge – when he kills someone.

Not something (a cat, a dog), a _someone_

It’s more significant (more exciting) and the weight on his shoulders is heavier but the reason behind his action is worth the trouble.

He seats down on the floor and he feels like a child again. _Nanny Flora is on the ground with eyes wide open and her neck has dirtied the carpet, grandma will be mad._

The man doesn’t have his throat sliced open but he’s bleeding from everywhere else. It’ll take ages to clean up the rug and he almost groans at the thought.

Soon enough, the door opens.

Michael closes his eyes and pictures his grandma’s every move.

She shuts the door with a loud thump, she's announcing her presence because she loves the sound of her voice. “Michael, I’m home!” She takes off her coat and comes towards the kitchen to open her shopping bags.

He hears her high-heels click-clack down the floor.

“You won’t _believe_ how many people I found on the flower shop this morning , you’d think th-“

A gasp follows and his eyes snap open

"Now, what am I gonna do with you?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE READ: I decided to instead of making this story completely on Mallory’s point of view to switch every chapter. One Mallory, Two Michael, Three Mallory again etc. Or would you prefer to write just Mallory and mention Michael’s childhood in the future? Please tell me your opinion, because each lead to different directions and plot and I just can’t decide.


	3. Mallory II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Because never in my entire childhood did I feel like a child. I felt like a person all along.  
> The same person that I am today.”  
> – Orson Scott Card

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t like this chapter because it’s more of a filler but it was unfortunately necessary.  
> I just can’t wait to write Michael’s chapter!
> 
> Also, did you guys see the finale of season 8?  
> I was so angry and disappointed! Lord praise fanfics and artwork because they're what keeps me going

The wicked witch

That term is what she has been known as for quite awhile now.

 _8 th grade sucks!_ Mallory thinks as she starts swinging her legs back and forth

“Mallory”

She looks up to find Scarlet Johnson waving her from afar. Mallory ignores her and looks up at the sky; it was cloudy and grey. _Perhaps it’ll rain_.

 “Hey” Scarlet greets with a sympathetic smile as she seats on the right swing. “Are you okay?”

“How did you find me?” Mallory asks instead

Scarlet shrugged, “You always come in the playground when you’re upset”

An eyebrow is raised at that, and Scarlet adds, “I heard your mom bitching about it to mine”

_That makes sense_

“Look, I don’t want to be rude or anything but I’d like to be alone right now”

“Too bad the playground is a public place” Scarlet smirks, stretching her legs. Mallory frowns but remains silent, then she picks up her school back and starts leaving.

“Wow wait” Scarlet jumps and grabs her by the arm. “I was joking, okay? Jeez, you’re sensitive one aren’t ya?”

“Would you not be the same?” Mallory shots back. “Everyone calls me the wicked witch now. It’s humiliating”

“Look, I can relate to being an outcast, okay?”

Mallory doubted that. Scarlet was one of the pretty girls in class, ginger, pale, skinny, and with green eyes… She looked like a fairy who escaped from a book.

Scarlet points her right eye, “I’m blind on this one, and people suddenly think I’m made of glass. I’d take nasty comments any day over pity.”

Mallory looks down on her lap and can’t help but guiltily recall how she had always felt pity for Scarlet. Looking at the other girl right now, Mallory wishes she could be half as confident as she appeared to be.

“You wanna hang out to my house? My parents are not home.”

Mallory thinks of her grams who has been keeping her distance from her for two weeks, she thinks of her mom who complains about the new problems that arose in her relationship with Will Drake, and then she thinks how she’ll have to deal with all of that as soon as she enters her house, so she nods.

“Lead the way”

 

~

Conveniently, Scarlet lives only few blocks away from her home but that’s not something she hadn’t known.

When they arrive, they go straight up to her bedroom and Mallory is a bit shocked at the Christian home decor that seemed to exist around the house.

Scarlet throws her backpack on the floor and jumps onto the bed carelessly. “My dad works at the department of theology and religious studies and my mom is… devout, in case you’re wondering about the whole….” She waves a hand, indicating the decoration of her room.

Mallory stands awkwardly before she joins her on the bed, opting to sit at the edge of it.

“So, how did the whole witch thing started?” Scarlet asks from behind her

“My grandma always said our ancestors were actually related to the Salem witches.” She says with a shrug, trying to play it cool. “Mom hates the whole thing. Her older sister, my aunt, believed it and got into some sort of…cult and died because of it”

“Sounds like an episode of _Criminal Minds_. Was she murdered?”

She feels a bit surprised at the cool tone in Scarlet’s voice but Mallory, nevertheless replies. “Yeah, in our lake house, in Georgia”

“You have a lake house? Lucky!” Crossing her legs, she leans closer. “I’m honestly surprised our moms started going to pilates together given her family history, no offence.”

_Mom does pilates?_

“Mom wouldn’t even let me watch _Harry Potter_ because she thought it was about influencing kids through Satanism.”

“That’s ridiculous”

“I know!” Scarlet exclaims with a pout. “This week she caught me watching _Sabrina: the teenage witch_ and now she’s forcing me to go to some church school. I was half hoping you mom would to the same thing with you so I could have some company.”

Mallory frowns; her mother had never mentioned anything. “I doubt she’ll do that. My mom rarely goes to church herself since she’s so busy, plus I’m not a believer.”

Scarlet tilts her head, puzzled by her response. “Then what’s your religion?”

“Atheism?”

Scarlet lets out a sceptical hum, considering her answer. “So when we die where do you think we’ll go…?”

“Honestly? I think we’ll just cease to exist. It’s bit horrifying if you think about it but yeah, that’s how I think we’ll go.”

Scarlet wanted to ask more about it but was afraid that she might offend her. Her friendships with girls never lasted too long, and so far, Mallory seemed different, _good_. “Well, I’m orthodox so obviously I believe in heaven. But it’s fine that you have different perspective.”

“Thanks” Mallory replies, looking around the room. The room was pink and lilac with some pastel colours highlighting it – it was making it almost bearable to ignore all the pictures with saints on the wall.

“So!” Scarlet says suddenly, clapping her hands together “Can I see your drawings?” 

“I-I don’t know” she stuttered. “I don’t really show them to anyone.”

Scarlet places her hand above her chest, “I would never make fun of it. I mean I can barely sketch a tree I don’t think I have any right to judge. Don’t you want to hear someone’s  opinion about it?”

“A different perspective would be nice,” Mallory admits. It still felt odd though, the only people she had openly shared her art had been her mother and grams, and all she had received was a negative response.

As far as she knew Scarlet, she was a nice girl, withdrawn and most of the time hanging around boys, which didn’t help her reputation.  But Mallory was afraid; she poured her heart in those pieces of paper and she didn’t want to face rejection again.

Feeling a tight knot in her stomach, Mallory decides to ignore her insecurities – the worst case scenario was that she’d probably end up eating launches at school alone.

Bending down to get her backpack, Mallory pulls out a blue folder where she kept her recent drawings – the old ones were safety locked inside her drawer, away from unwanted hands.

“Here. These were made this week.” She hates how her hands tremble as she gives her the papers. If only the earth could open and swallow her now.

Scarlet takes a long look of them, which doesn’t help Mallory’s nervousness.

_Calm down, she’s just a girl, not a critic_

 “These are fucking amazing,” she blurts with a grin.

“R-really?”

“Hell yeah!”She gushes and confesses, “When I heard the unbreakable duo mocking you I kinda expected to see less.”

The duo Scarlet was referring was Serena and her brother. Mallory couldn’t really call them bullies – more stuck up and cocky if she was honest.   

“I wish I could wear these clothes,” Scarlet said, her eyes flickering from the drawing back to Mallory. “Are you interested in cloth design?”

Mallory nods, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “My dream is to study fashion design in Paris.”

“Fancy!” She beams giving her back the drawing. “It’s a tough industry though, so you shouldn’t be so sensitive.”

“I know” She did, but Mallory was naturally a people pleaser. It was hard to get rid of the habit.

“What about this one?” Scarlet pauses, laying down two different pieces of paper.

Mallory looks down at the dreams that had been hunting her for so many nights. She had convinced herself that she only drew her dreams out of boredom, but it wasn’t entirely true.

Most of her nights were sleepless; Mallory always ended up waking in the middle of the night panting and sweating from what she had seen. She had looked up online on how to fall back to sleep and so far only drinking hot cocoa had somewhat helped. Yet, most of the time her thoughts had travelled back to her dreams, to the boy in the rotten field, to the damn seven-headed dragon she couldn’t stop dreaming about almost every night.

“It’s based on my dreams – or what I end up remembering anyway.”

“You’re good with realism” Scarlet praises her again with a nod, without looking away. “The boy’s cute, but I like the dragon one better. Is it based on _Game of Thrones_?”

Mallory chuckles, “Not really”

Scarlet brings the drawing closer, inspecting it carefully. “Why does it have seven heads?”

“I don’t know,” Mallory lies. “My head is a weird place.”

Scarlet purses her lips and hints, “If we're talking about interpretation, I've read that dragons can either symbolise hard work and patience or fear and trouble depending on whether you were afraid of them or not."

“You actually believe these things?”

“I’m open minded” Scarlet explains as she puts everything back inside the folder. “And if you want an advice, you should actually look into your ancestry and ignore what everyone says at school. Next year, we'll be freshmen and Serena and her brother will be far too busy with maintaining their image and popularity to bully."

Mallory finally laughs, ignoring the serious look she received "Is that what they teach you in church school?"

"No” Scarlet sighs and seems ready to drop the subject before she adds, “But let's just say the world is bigger than you can imagine. Trust me"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys enjoyed it although, it wasn’t really great.  
> Also, if you’re a reader of "The Right Thing", then I want you to know that I will continue that story as well.  
> I’m currently planning the chapters


	4. Michael II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “In a child's eyes, a mother is a goddess.   
> She can be glorious or terrible, benevolent or filled with wrath, but she commands love either way.   
> I am convinced that this is the greatest power in the universe.”   
> – N.K. Jemisin,

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for updating so late but I had to work double shifts while I was (still) very sick. I'm honestly surprised that I'm still studying.
> 
> This chapter got out of hand and it's too long but I hope you won't mind
> 
> [fun fact: originally it was supposed to Violet and Chad in the first scene]
> 
> (WARNING: graphic death scene towards the end because Michael is the antichrist)  
> A necessary detailed I forgot to mention is that the person who Michael kills in Chapter 2 is someone from season 1, so can you guess before you read?

Michael had turned nine only a month before he visited the famous Murder House for the first time in his short life, and it wasn’t only out of curiosity (despite having been curious about his grandma’s obsession with the house and with the pull he felt towards it.)

It was Winter. The snow had fallen, school was over, and it was time for the holidays.

Michael had returned home a bit early only to find the door locked; it was odd since grandma was always inside to welcome him home.

He looks around, wondering how much trouble he would get in if he broke a window in order to get inside (grandma shouldn’t even scold him for it, really. She was the one who should have been there)

One of their neighbours calls him, “If you’re looking for your grandma, she’s back to that house,” She tells him with scoff, rolling her eyes.

Michael walks towards the famous house, the chance too good to be wasted and feels a spark of electricity running down his spine as soon as he gets inside.

The house is empty and quiet – expectable since the last owners left half a year ago. The woman responsible for the house – Marcy, his grandma had mentioned, had been trying in vain to find new owners.

He can’t help but feel tiny compared to the size of the house, he feels almost insignificant and he doesn’t like it.

His footsteps make a small sound against the wooden floor and he tightens the coat around him; it’s suddenly too cold. A sound makes him jump and he drops his backpack.

“Now, now, where did you come from?” A playful voice says from behind him

Michael turns around, his cheeks flushing at been caught. In front of him, there is a man with a drink on his hand, casually leaning against the wall. He looks clean and wears colourful clothes so he’s certainly not a hobo.

“I’m looking for… someone,” He confesses hesitantly, not knowing whether this man could be trusted. His grandma always got herself in trouble for coming into this house and it was Michael’s job to look after her.

The man takes a sip of his drink and smiles at him almost friendly; he doesn’t trust him, however, there’s something sinister in his grin, Michael can feel it.

“…my grandma”

“Your grandma” He repeats, his voice losing any trace of playfulness. It’s as if a cloud appeared and concealed any optimism he had on his features.

Michael gulps. Perhaps this was a bad idea. “I’ll wait for her outside-“He takes a step back, but before he can go any further a hand touches his shoulder, immobilizing him. He looks back and sees a petite girl with auburn hair smirking down on him.

“And who you might be?”

“He’s Constance’s _grandson_ ” The man with the wine spits, his lips snarled with rage as he shots a glare at the girl.

Her grip loosens and she flattered. “My baby? 

Her attention comes back to him and her face softens. “Are you my baby?”

Wide eyed and more than a little disturbed, Michael looks back and forth between the two and wonders whether his small size is going to work to his advantage to aid him escape.

Fortunately, he doesn’t have to think about it. He sees grandma walking down the stairs and when she takes a look of him, she pauses and stares at him in disbelief as if she is unable to comprehend he was actually there.

And then she’s running

“Get away from him! Michael, what the heck are you doing here?”

He flinches at her raised voice and his hurt quickly become anger when he accuses her. “You weren’t home when I came. You also locked the door.”

“He grew up so fast…” The girl looks as if she’s ready to cry. “You kept him from us!” She screams at his grandma who wears a bored expression

The man makes a disapproving sound. “You’ve already ruined the boy’s fashion sense. That’s certain.” He smirks, as if watching a funny play, “Has Norman Bates Jr seen him?”

He places his drink on a table and claps his hands together in a mocking excitement. “Shall I call him? We all love family reunions”

 Grandma doesn’t bother to reply, instead she grabs his arm harshly and he whines. “Let’s go home, Michael” She orders and pushes him towards the door.

The girl with the auburn hair takes few steps but the man stops her before she can reach them and whispers something in her ear. They’re both talking at the same time and Michael cannot understand them.

As they walk outside, his grandma’s grip strong as iron, he can hear the girl yell, “That’s abuse, you old hag!”

As soon as they reach home, there is screaming and yelling and the neighbours will complain about it. Grandma raises a hand, Michael breaks a vase and they both go to bed angry with tears in their eyes.

His fateful visit at the house of the dead however, is not what pulls off the trigger.

Because the next day, they both apologise; Michael glues back the vase quite horribly and grandma kisses his bruises and they don’t talk about what happened.

What set things in motion is a visit on a beautiful Saturday, on a quiet afternoon, and a day after Michael’s twelve birthday.

  **~**

Michael had always known he was different from others; it wasn’t something he learnt as he grew older, it was one of the things that he just… knew. The sky is blue, his name is Michael, and he has powers that nobody else has.

He likes practising with them; it’s the only moment he truly feels like himself and it makes him happy. He only wishes he could share it with grandma.

Just yesterday, he had finally mastered telekinesis and had successfully scared off some kids who wanted to break into the Murder House – a place he had been tempted to visit once more.

The spirits from the old house had not really scared him as his grandma thought; he had expected them to be wilder, more terrifying.

_How disappointing_

They had caught him off guard and they created doubts about his grandma, doubts he hadn’t wanted to have. Michael had made a promise, however, to never go alone and no matter how angry he had been at his grandma, they had linked their fingers together and pinky swore.

A vow was made.

But he would stare at his grandma who in return would look at the house with longing. Michael thought the house was crap. He had only seen one room when he had visited years ago but the ancient house didn’t really impress him.

 _Their_ house was better

Regardless of his opinion, Michael hated seeing his grandma so unhappy every time Miss Marcy would tell her excitedly that she sold the house. “Hopefully, they’ll stay!”

They never did

“Michael, dear, can you bring me a glass of water?” Grandma asks, her hands creating art. “My throat is dried.”

Michael nods and heads toward the kitchen and pours a glass of water from the sink. He glances up and he sees a police car being parked outside. His grandma groans and complains why it takes him forever to bring her water but he ignores her as he stares at the black man who just got out of the car.

The man looks up and their eyes meet. He looks at him with a confused expression and glances back at a piece of paper he was holding. He looks at him again with a thoughtful look and gives him a smile, which Michael refuses to return before he rushes back into the living room.

“Finally-“ Grandma exclaims but Michael cuts her off before she can even finish her sentence.

“There’s a policeman outside,” he tells her as soon as he places the glass of water on the table.

Grandma takes a sip and seems to understand his uneasiness. “Don’t worry, baby. I’m sure it’s for the damn bills,” She complains, rolling her eyes. “It’s a new thing they do to scare off people; I’ll show them where to put the bills.”

 “Where?” Michael doesn’t know anything about the bills or whether there’s a problem with them but he has an odd feeling. Something was not right.

Before grandma could reply, the doorbell rings and she immediately gets up. “Stay here” she orders, taking a pack of cigarettes with her.

Michael waits for few minutes as his grandma opens the door; he can hear her sweet voice even from there. He takes off his slippers and jumps from the chair so he won’t make a sound as he walks closer to eavesdrop.

“Detective Granger, this is a surprise”

“I bet you hoped you’d never see me” The man says with a chuckle that hold no humour in it

“Hope is a flightless bird, detective”

The detective cleared his throat. “May I come in?”

Grandma blocks him with her hand, “I’d rather you do not”

There’s something close to staring contest before the detective speaks. “Mrs Langdon, I came here to tell you that Larry Harvey passed away few days ago”

“Good. At last he paid after what he did to my poor Travis,” she says with sad tone and Michael frowns, wondering who Travis is. “Still, I’m unable to comprehend the reason you’d leave your duties to come to my doorstep.”

“Larry Harvey committed suicide”

Another silence

“…the mind is sometimes as weak as the flesh, I suppose-“

“Inside his cell, we found a bunch of unsent letters written to you.”

“Me?”

“I asked you years ago whether you had ever seen this man and you lied to me”

“Perhaps you remember wrong-“

“I’ve worked in the field for more than three decades Mrs Langdon. Do not even think for one second that I have a blur memory.”

Michael wishes he could get closer to see his grandma’s expression; he could always understand whether she was lying just by looking at her. He moves his body and sits down more comfortably; whoever this man was he knew some of the things grandma had concealed from him.

“Larry was… a stalker; an obsessive man who ruined his life because he couldn’t appreciate his poor wife and his two lovely girls.” She lit up a cigarette and the man makes a face– he’s apparently bothered.  “He pursued me endlessly and for a short time, I even found his determination… charming. Nevertheless, I could never forgive what he did to my poor Travis. God bless his soul.”

The detective frowns, his tone completely unconvinced. “And why didn’t you tell me about him when he was arrested? You hid valuable information-“

“Our past was nothing useful for the case.” Grandma interrupted with a sharp tone; something that Michael hated when she did to him.  “It wouldn’t change his actions, would it? And a man like you can understand why I didn’t speak. The case had gathered enough attention from the media I was merely trying to protect myself.”

“Before his recent death, we had no clue why he did this atrocious act. I always knew it couldn’t be just a random kill but there was nothing to investigate. Now I discover it was all a crime of passion.” He speaks in a tone that makes his grandma tense, Michael can see that even with just staring at her back. “You lived with Mr. Harvey in 1994”

Grandma leans against the wall and Michael wonders whether she’s trying to appear relaxed or whether she feels unwell. “That’s correct, but I left him soon as soon as I realised how unhealthy his affections were”

The detective narrows his eyes and something shifts in his mind. “During that year, your son, Beauregard, died”

“By natural causes.” Grandma reminds him.

Michael was confused; this man was obviously not here for the unpaid bills. He had already mentioned two names that he had never heard off. He also didn’t understand what his grandma’s son had to do with it…

“Right.” The man cocks his head to the side and Michael presses himself against the wall harder in order to remain unseen. “I noticed a boy as I was coming,”

“That’s my grandson”

The detective looks at her as if she had grown another head. “Your grandson?”

She leaves the cigarette on the ashtray and starts telling the story. “A child of a distant cousin, on my mother’s side. The DeLongprees of Virginia, Evaline and Steve,” she tells his before he can ask and elaborates. “They died tragically in a highway outside Richmond. Leaving the poor little angel orphan, and my heart simply called out to him”

Michael knew the story; it had been one of the first lies grandma taught him. The truth was he had never known anything about his parents, grandma had even refused to mutter their names and more than many times Michael wondered what sort of people they were.

Despite her attempt to postpone it, Michael was determined to find the truth, to know his origins. He loved his grandma with his whole being and he could never imagine his life without her but there was a part of him that simply wanted to know where he came from – even if he wasn’t wanted.

“And when did the adoption occur?”

“2012” She replies smoothly and the detective seems as if he wants to say something more but he hold himself back.

“I see... Well, _Larry’s_ funeral will be held here, in L.A on Thursday if you’re interested.”

“Thank you for letting me know but I have a child to look after, and there’s no room for any sorrow.”

“Have a nice day, Mrs. Langdon. We’ll see each other again.”

“Do you know if I could have the letters?”

“Why would you want them?” Despite his question, the man seemed to know the reason.

“I simply want to try and… understand him; his thoughts, his reasoning, after what he did to my beautiful Travis.” She lets outs a theatrical sigh and Michael has to keep himself from laughing, Hollywood was really missing out a star.

“I’ll see what I can do, Mrs. Langdon.”

Michael hears the door closing and his grandma lets out a tired sigh.

She grabs the ashtray and returns back to the kitchen, raising no eyebrow when she sees him against the wall.

She lit up a new cigarette, her face now twisted and angry as she curses, “That stupid son of a bitch”

Michael has many questions but as soon as, he opens his mouth to ask, grandma sets her angry eyes at him, as if he was the one who ruined their afternoon.

“Go to your room, Michael.”

**~**

Michael has never been too outgoing or social; yes, he has three friends at school (two which he doesn’t even give a damn about)  but he wasn’t the kind of boy who would sneak around or stay outside late – something which grandma seemed to appreciate.

He was however, drawn to technology like any other kid. Other than the video games, which he loved playing, Michael liked surfing the internet.

Old people scold at it, curse it, and claimed it had ruined what they had once known but the truth is, internet is a blessing.

 

_Larry Harvey was an American criminal and star of many controversies around the world during and after his arrest in 2011.  
_ _In the late ‘90s, Larry’s wife **Lorraine** set a room in their house on fire, killing herself and their two daughters: Angela and Margaret. _

_The reason behind the suicide was never revealed. Close friends, however, claimed that “Larry had been unfaithful” and that “Lorraine had become a shadow of her former self”. A year after his wife’s death, Harvey was attacked and suffered serious **third degrees burns**. Few months later, he was fired from his workplace and put in a **psychiatric ward** for the following two years_

_In 2011, Harvey  murdered former actor and model **Travis Wanderly** – dubbed as **The Boy Dahlia** by the public – and disposed Travis’s horribly mutilated corpse by tossing it in a nearby public basketball court.   
Few weeks after the murder, Harvey came to the police station and confessed his crime. He was convicted of **first-degree murder** for Wandely’s death._

_Despite his confession, nobody ever found out why he committed the murder. When asked by interviewer **Ethan Hock** , he only smiled and said, “Mad people do mad things” _

_Hock described him, in his book «Monsters of L.A», as “Generally polite, but this can be used as a front to try to manipulate others. He can be manipulative, but also willing to be used by others to an obsequious degree. He can be craven when threatened and prone to episodes of tears and rage when emotional, which shows his instability He is a broken man with a broken mind.”_

_On November 19, he committed suicide in the early morning hours by hanging while serving out his sentence in **Illinois**._

 

Michael shuts his laptop with a huff, frustrated at the little information he found. Instead of answers, the wiki article only created more questions.

 _Grandma had a history with the detective – Granger,_ Michael reminds himself, _she had a relationship with a man who left his family and apparently became obsessed with her. They broke up, then he killed Travis Wanderly – an actor and model_ (someone who his grandma seems awfully fond of). _Now the killer dies after writing a bunch of letters to his grandma._

It doesn’t make any sense

Throughout the next day, Michael tries in vain to get something from his grandma but she only dismisses him like an annoying bug.

“My past is mine to deal with.” She replies with her back turned on him as she cuts some vegetables. Michael wants to scream, he wants to shake her but a tantrum would only make it worse.

During the evening, he goes to her room and catches her watching a telenovelas. He sits with her and observes an unrealistic plot playing out before his eyes when he mentions casually how he read Larry Harvey’s Wikipedia page.

Grandma gets angry and twists his ear, “I only pay the internet to help you with school projects not to look into this stuff!”

He cries. He can’t help it. However, grandma remains unmoved, heartless.

Michael tries to sooth his ear, which feels like burning, and he glares at her furiously.

A loud bang makes them both jump and they stare astonished at the television that just exploded.

Michael makes a run to his room and locks the door, ignoring grandma loud screech and curses.

At night, she doesn’t kiss him goodnight and Michael is condemned to lie down on his bed, staring at the ceiling, with his ear still aching.

He sniffs, his throat hurts from crying too long but even after he unlocked the door, grandma had yet to come

He suddenly hears a crack and he turns to the side, hugging his blanket tighter around himself.

The door opens and then it closes. A body sits next to him, and a hand strokes his hair.

"You know that I know you're not sleeping, right?"

Michael can already smell the strong alcohol in her breath, which explains how she is so relaxed.

He rolls over, his eyes meeting hers. "You hurt me," he accuses and her hand moves towards his ear and stroke it with gentle movements.

"You broke my TV" she replies easily as if it was a justified reason.

"I could buy you a new one..."

She finds it funny. "With what money?"

"I could work," he suggests unrealistically. He's almost twelve and nobody would ever hire him but he wants to offer her the world; he want to buy her a new house, a better than the one next door where she could finally be happy without any longings

She chuckles at him and leans forward to kiss his ear and Michael breathes – grandma always said, a kiss makes everything better and he waited for it the whole afternoon.

"I love you, Michael," she says quietly, her voice gentle and her eyes soft. Michael could burn the world if it meant keeping her like this.

"I love you too, grandma." He tells her honestly. Every time he tried to think of his parents, grandma’s image popped up in his mind. She was and will always be his everything.

“That man is bad news”

He agrees with a nod. “He wasn’t convinced with your responses. You only made him more suspicious.”

She pulls back and asks, “How do you know?”

“I sensed it,”

Instead of commenting about it, she closes her eyes and inhales – she’s anxious, he can feel it. “We need to be careful for the next few days,” she opens her eyes and looks down on him with a look that probably meant about his powers. He doesn’t like it and that’s obviously written all over his face because grandma smiles and promises, “Until he goes away.”

 _Will he?_ “He asked about me” it’s not a question but she nods. “He didn’t believe you”

“I don't give a rat’s ass about what he thinks,” He doubts that because grandma cares about everything. “I fought too fucking hard to get you, Michael. I won’t let that mulatto change anything.”

She gives him one more kiss on his forehead. “I promise”

**~**

That night he dreams again, it’s not an often occurrence but every time he dreams, all he sees is a bright light.

When he was younger, he used to murmur in his sleep about the light and grandma eventually got him a nightlight because she thought he was afraid of the dark.

She couldn’t be more wrong

In his dreams, everything was black; there was only a void, vacant and cold. A light would appear from time to time and Michael would always try to reach it. He wanted to capture it and keep it to himself.

There were times that the light didn’t appear at all. He would stand there; waiting, feeling oddly empty and he would wake up in the morning with sour mood.

That night he finally did it

There was nothing out of ordinary. Everything was the same as always. Only this time the light did not move away as usual. Michael used the opportunity to run towards it and grab it. As soon as he did, it exploded and blinded him – for a moment he thought he would die.

When he opened his eyes, he realized he was lying down on a rotten earth. He looked up at the sky which had taken a weird red colour (he didn’t mind, he liked red) and frowned at the sound of the crows that were flying around him, he hated birds.

Michael was embarrassed to admit it but it took him a long time to realize there was someone standing from afar – to his defence he was distracted by two snakes he saw hiding.

A figure was standing on a grass.

How he had to stand on rotten ground with a disgusting smell while the figure got to be on the soft green grass, Michael didn’t know but he considered it unfair.

He opened his mouth to call out but he found out he couldn’t use neither his voice nor move his body.

He rolled his eyes and glared at opposite direction, the figure didn’t seem to have any problems. He was the only one stuck.

 _Here we go again._ He thought grumpily and an hour later, he woke up frustrated

**~**

The moment he steps out of his house on Monday morning, Michael knows there’s something wrong. On the way to school, he sees one of his classmates, Nick, the only soul he can actually tolerate at school since he minds his own business and doesn’t watch him like he’s some freak.

They talk about their upcoming math test when Michael notices a car following them. He frowns but saying nothing when Nicks asks concerned whether something was bothering him.

He steps inside the school as the car parks right outside.

**~**

By Wednesday, his dreams stay the same and Michael discovers that it’s Detective Granger who follows him every day at school. A curiosity grows inside him, and when Grandma asks why he’s so distracted, Michael simply says it’s school stuff.

(Grandma knows he’s lying but she remains quiet as they eat their dinner)

**~**

On Friday Detective Granger’s car is gone and nobody seems to be following him.

When he returns home, he finds Grandma smoking her third cigarette as she stares at the kitchen table with hard eyes.

There are two cups and her eyes are red.

Something shifts inside Michael

The man was here

**~**

Although not one fond of traditions, grandma loves stopping at Sweet Lady Jane’s every Saturday to pick up pastry as she heads to the flower shop.

It is during that time that Detective Granger chooses to stop by.

 _It’s not coincidental_. Michael will realise later. But as he hears the doorbell he can only feel annoyed for having to pause the video game – he was _this_ close at finishing.

Michael jumps from the bed and as he passes the kitchen, he doesn’t fail to notice the car parked outside; immediately, he knows who it is.

Throughout his life, grandma always told him to never open the door to anyone when she wasn’t there. But the memory of her red eyes, and her dry tears on her cheeks flashes through his mind and Michael opens the door almost angrily.

The detective is polite; he talks to him in a gentle tone but doesn’t seem to treat him as a clueless child. Michael would have appreciated the gesture if he hadn’t been a thorn on their sides.

Always grandma’s little gentleman, Michael invites him in and eagerly the man step inside.

Michael locks the door.

“Would you like some juice or something sweet?” He asks politely as the detective sits down. “My birthday was yesterday, there’s still a lot of cake.”

Detective Granger declines, “No thank you.” He points at the opposite chair and tells him to take a seat.

“Michael, my name is Elliot Granger-“

“I know who you are,” Michael interrupts him; “You’re the detective who visited us to talk about grandma’s old flirt.

The detective seems amused as he smiles, “I forgot that kids like to eavesdrop,”

Michael doesn’t comment about it, and so the detective continues, “After what I found out about your grandma and her relationship with that man, I couldn’t help but being curious about you Michael.”

“About what?”

“Your past,” he replies simply, “Your parents, your relationship with your grandmother.”

“We love each other,” Michael tells him genuinely hoping the fact will make him go away.

“Your neighbours have noticed your close relationship,” The detective nods. “Has she ever told you about your parents?”

“She adopted me officially when I was very young,” He lies, repeating the tale grandma had taught him. “Biologically, grandma is a distant aunt to me but she’s the only family I’ve ever known”

“I’m sorry for asking you these kinds of questions but your point of view is very important.”

“I don’t mind. People always say I’m already very mature.”

Letting out a chuckle the detective agrees, “Yeah, I’ve heard that… Michael, what has Constance told you about your parents’ death?”

“They died in a car accident”

“Michael, I don’t know how to tell you this but I believe Constance lied to you,” he gets up and knees in front of him, taking his hands into his. “She doesn’t have any relations to you”

A numb feeling spreads inside him and Michael feels like his heart stopped for a second. “What?”

“It’s a long story but your mother’s name was Vivian Harmon and your father’s name Ben Harmon; they moved to the house next door in 2011-

The detective’s voice become blur, Michael cannot hear him

 _It can’t be true. It can’t be true._ A small voice repeats over and over like a prayer; grandma may not be ready to talk about his parents, she may have secrets but he _forgives_ her because their **family**.

“…I’ve come in contact with your aunt…”

 _He’s lying._ Something hisses inside his head and Michael desperately wants to agree but something tags into his heart: the ghosts talking with double meaning, his grandma’s secrets, the stares at school, the pull from the house-

It’s all too much

“…and after another DNA test you can go and live with- Michael, are you alright?” the detective asks him worried as he examines his face. “I know this is too much information to process-“

“Shut up!”  He screams at him, pushing his hands away.

The glasses from the shelves break and the detective looks around bewildered

“What was-“

“You are the liar! You are the one who should get punish! Not her!”

“Son, calm down,” The man raises his hands in surrender, and while his voice was calm his face was clearly anxious. 

Tears runs down his cheeks, making everything seem blurring. His heart hurt and his ears seemed to burn. “I’M NOT YOU SON! I WAS SUPPOSED TO BE HERS!” Michael yells at top of his lungs, his heart breaking because he has always been able to read people and this man-

This man was telling the truth

Felling his legs like jelly, Michael falls down on his knees and sobs into his hands.

After a minute, the detective hugs him and allows him to ruin his jacket. “It’s going to be okay, boy. I give you my word.”

The moment he touches him, Michael sees  everything;  he sees Eliot Granger following him at school, investigating grandma’s past, talking with Miss Mercy and then with his principal at school. He sees a blond woman – his aunt, who sobs happily at the fact he’s alive…

Exhaustedly, he shuts his eyes as Michael allows himself to be pulled closer into the embrace. “Why would she lie?”

“Because she’s sick,” he answers, pulling back. “You’re not her first victim, but I swear to you, she’ll pay for what she’s done.”

The imagine of _her_ being in pain doesn’t being him any joy but Michael asks anyway, “how?”

“She’ll go to prison.”

“For how long?”

“Hopefully?” The detective gets up and offers him a hand, which Michael takes. “Until she dies”

 _He’s going to take her from you_ A voice whispers and Michael whimpers, “No”

“Pardon?”

 _You’ll end up loveless to a stranger’s house_ “I won’t”

“Michael, what are you talking about?”

 _That is, if she doesn’t get rid of you._ “That won’t happen”

“Michael-“

“Shut your mouth!” Michael feels like he’s pulled forward into something; his vision is clearer, his hearing better, sharper, and he feels stronger than ever.

His body doesn’t feel like it belongs to him anymore as he pins the man against the wall with telekinesis.

“What the fuck?””

His eyes roll and for the first time, Michael feels _powerful_

 A lot of things happen simultaneously, a window breaks, the lamp burns out, few birds fly away, and a knife find its way to his hand.

The man’s breath come in short pants and he looks at him with pure fear that makes his skin tingles.

“Oh God”

His voice is barely a whisper and Michael smirks, “Divine intervention is... unlikely”

As the detective gasps for air, Michael walks close to him and grabs his tongue, yanking it out of his mouth as far as it would go. His eyes grow big as he realizes what he is about to do.

Michael slices Granger’s throat just under his chin, freeing his tongue from it connective reissue, allowing him to pull it completely out of his mouth. Michael releases him from his hold, and the detective coughs and tries to move in vain.

 His strangles delights him as the blood runs from his throat, pooling all around him. Michael throws away the tongue and wipes his hands clumsily on his shirt.  He can still hear the detective gagging.

Michael turns, kneels down, and with a final move he stabs him on his chest. He repeats the action over and over again in an attempt to feel satisfaction.

Out of breath, Michael throws the knife away and falls down on the floor. He feels like himself again but all the energy leaves him drained.

He moves backwards till his back hits the wall and it’s only then the realisation of what his did hits him. Michael feels like crying but he feels oddly empty, as if he has nothing more to give out.

He stares at the dead body numbly, feeling as lost as a child – the only sound that echoes around him is the sound of the clock.

Tick-tuck

Tick-tuck

Tick-tuck

Oddly enough, the sight bring him back the memory  of Nanny Flora, only that his caretaker wasn’t as worth or impactful as the man in front of him

 _It’ll take ages to clean this mess._ He muses just as the door opens

Michael closes his eyes and pictures her every move.

She shuts the door with a loud thump; she's announcing her presence because she loves the sound of her voice. “Michael, I’m home!” She takes off her coat and comes towards the kitchen to open her shopping bags.

He hears her high-heels click-clack down the floor.

“You won’t believe how many people I found on the flower shop this morning, you’d think th-“

A gasp follows and she makes a disapproving sound as she glances at the body with disgust.  "Now, what am I gonna do with you?"

“You’re going to give me some answers.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would love to hear your thoughts on this chapter since you guys are valuable to me.
> 
> Personally though, there are no words to describe how much I hate myself right now. I was so excited to write this chapter but now I’m disappointed; Michael wasn’t supposed to turn on Constance and we were supposed to see them getting rid of the body.  
> I honestly feel like shit right now so, I’m just going to log out and cry

**Author's Note:**

> Things you need to know:  
> Mallory's last name is Bennet because it comes from Benedictus which means "blessed"  
> (finally my Latin were useful for something)  
> This takes place before Apocalypse but we'll get there eventually  
> Lastly, I'm dyslexic and English is not my mother tongue so forgive my mistakes


End file.
